


beer and hennessy

by doublehoopedfeature



Category: South Park
Genre: ? - Freeform, Light Angst, M/M, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 20:24:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16878579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublehoopedfeature/pseuds/doublehoopedfeature
Summary: In which Kyle is tired of being disappointed, but still can't leave him alone.





	beer and hennessy

**Author's Note:**

> its a vent fic :)

Stan and Kyle have been attached at the hip for as long as Kyle can remember, constantly laughing and crying and breathing together as one. It’s fortifying in some ways, knowing there’s a loyal constant in your life right behind you, another half of you to count on. Stan is always there to help him study, to escape from his overbearing mother, wrap him up against his arms in Kyle’s weakest moments. He’s an aching comfort. Still, in other ways, codependence is like performing acrobatics, spinning wildly in the air and praying, hoping to god that your partner doesn’t let you drop to the gritty concrete below. Disappointment comes so easily in a relationship as familiar as theirs, and Kyle never knows if there will be a day where Stan might just decide he doesn’t want to catch him. Kyle doesn’t think he can handle hitting the cold floor, or handle the idea that Stan doesn’t need him as much as he needs Stan.

Stan distances himself a lot more than usual. He talks to friends he knows Kyle can’t socially rival with. He slowly finds new excuses to skip Friday game nights and Sunday sleepovers. He kisses girls in places Kyle can easily pass through and spot. He smokes and drinks up a storm whenever he feels sad, which is more often than not. Stan has already began sawing away at the flesh and bone that bind the two of them together, placing a wall between them one brick at a time. 

Maybe Kyle’s already began plummeting, caught still in a single camera shutter inches above the concrete. 

On these days he’ll finally think that Stan has let him go for good. That maybe it’s better to be dropped than left swinging from their arms.  _ Good,  _ a fake part of him will breathe, rib cage cracking with familiar emotions.  _ Forget him. Forget him.  _

Other days remind Kyle of no matter how they little they talk anymore, they just can’t seem to let go. Stan turns up by his bedroom window, drunk and sobbing so hard not even Kyle at his best can turn him down. His soft, near inaudible weeping will crack straight through Kyle’s armor, lead the other boy into his arms. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chokes out, reeking unpleasantly of beer and hennessy he stole from his father’s cabinet. A laid back evening gone to rogue, hard drinking. His fine, dark arm hairs will brush up against Kyle’s, making him tremble like the reverberating strings of a guitar. He can hear songs Stan has written for him in the back of his head when they kiss, both of them weak from something tearing away at their organs from within. The only times Kyle has tasted Stan’s mouth is when it’s tainted with alcohol. He wants to know what it tastes like in the luminous gray of the morning, smiling against his own lips. 

If it’s not a physical confrontation, it’s a digital one.  _ why m i lie this, _ Stan sends in the dead of night. Kyle imagines him sitting sadly at the back of a party, miserable under cheap, neon party lights, so tipsy he can’t stand without his head weighing down. He rests his cheek his knees, wishing he could be there beside him.  _ were m yfault arent we _

_ i haet this. _

_ god remmebr when u used ot hold my hand n turd grad _

_ y dont w eany mroe _

_ cmon ppl no _

_ w _

_ hye look at this scok i fuond here it has a bjrd _

Then, in a moment of clarity:

_ im sorry _

Kyle chews at the peeling skin of his lips as he carefully types out,  _ Me too. Please go home. I’ll call you an uber ok. _

He doesn’t respond, so Kyle just lets worried text sink into embarrassment. He decides not to send a ride, finds it isn’t worth it.  _ Forget him, _ he chides, conjuring up appalling images of Stan and Bebe making out in a stall. He recalls feelings of betrayal, raw hurt that Stan Marsh has planted in his chest thousands of times.  _ How many times has he fucked you over and left your heart for dead?  _ He tries to force himself back to sleep. 

After fidgeting in the dark for twenty minutes, Kyle receives a sole response:  _ klye u knwo me so well it hurts. _

His resolve is strong, but not strong enough. He sends an uber and curls up with his phone gripped tightly over his collarbone. Maybe one day Stan will learn to take more from him than stolen, drunk moments. 


End file.
